Child's Play, The 82nd Hunger Games
by abbydoggie8
Summary: The Mockingjay Rebellion has been destroyed and in the twelve year wake after the war known as the Year of Sorrow the Hunger Games have become more dire and brutal than before insuring no less than fifty deaths a year including the twenty-five tributes who will die in the arena, and a member of each of their families. The Games are about to begin. Update about progress in reviews.
1. Prologue-Character List-Author Notes

The 82nd promised to be quite the show, and all of the Capitol was buzzing with anticipation, feasts and parties in abundance. Everyone well knew the story, after all, they had lived it. Somewhere around ninety years ago the first Rebellion began leading to the Dark Days. After which, through a devilish stroke of genius, Games had been made, ensuring that every District, every District save for 13 who had the audacity to threaten nuclear war, the war that had seen all life scorched away from the world save for blessed Panem upon the Capitol, had to send one boy and one girl to die for the crimes of their people in most entertaining spectacles of combat.

Thirteen years ago now, a secondary Rebellion, the Mockingjay Rebellion led by none other than Katniss Everdean, the girl on fire, a Tribute from 12 had arisen, leading to a short lived but but bloody conflict known as The Year of Sorrows. Once the rebels had been laid to waste each and every known conspirator was rounded up and executed, Victors, Tributes, Avoxes and all, but not before listening to their precious Mockingjay sing her last as they watched a raging inferno rip the delicate and becoming flesh from her bones. A poetically arranged death to say the least.

Order had now been reestablished, the Districts, quelled and numbers drastically thinned for insurance. Now with the victorious president Snow at the head of an even more bloodthirsty Capitol, having known the rages of war and loss of loved ones, has instituted the Mockingjay clause of the Games in which the family of each and every Tribute must elect one of their own to die if said Tribute should die. If there is only one other member to their family that individual is by default elected, and furthermore if there is no family to be found, a member from within the community is elected by said community to die.

Though, the Capitol is not without mercy, one Tribute and their elected family member will be allowed their lives, only, however, if that Tribute can make it out of the Games alive.

The Tributes:

District 1 - Female, Name: Snowflake Trest, Age: 18

District 1 - Male, Name: Apollo Kovalev, Age: 18

District 2 - Female, Name: Adaria Braud, Age: 16

District 2 - Male, Name: Jordan Howe, Age: 18

District 3 - Female, Name: Idalis "Ida" Circuit, Age: 17

District 3 - Male, Name: Cable Ryam, Age: 16

District 4 - Female, Name: Cicely Martrox, Age: 15

District 4 - Male, Name: Atlas Wave, Age: (Pending)

District 5 - Female, Name: Annie Elkiss, Age: 12

District 5 - Male, Name: George Davidson, Age: 15

District 6 - Female, Name: Carrie Morris, Age: 15

District 6 - Male, Name: Casey Trackford, Age: 15

District 7 - Female, Name: Eve Pevensie, Age: 16

District 7 - Male, Name: John Brok, Age: 15

District 8 - Female, Name Prine Ivory, Age: 14

District 8 - Male, Name: Weaver Pin, Age: 14

District 9 - Female, Name: Marlow Wedders, Age: 16

District 9 - Male, Name: Bise Nairn, Age: 14

District 10 - Female, Name: Sable Walker, Age: 12

District 10 - Male, Name: Angus Brad, Age: 17

District 11 - Female, Name: Robin Miller, Age: 13

District 11 - Male, Name: Otto Roxen, Age: 16

District 12 - Female, Name: Alodia Selkirk, Age: 12

District 12 - Male, Name: Cole Highs, Age: 13

District 13 - Female, Name: Violet Bombshell, Age: 13

District 13 - Male, Name: Ash Smith, Age: 16

Thank you so much to everyone who submitted Tributes to my story I really appreciate it and can't wait to work with them! :) Also I'm sorry if I wasn't terribly clear on the whole, family members will only die if the Tribute dies thing, my bad!

I have come up with a basic outline for the beginnings of this Hunger Games epic. As of right now I have it plotted to where each character will be getting their own chapter and that chapter can take place anywhere between the week prior to Reaping, and the pre-Games interview, with each new chapter not only introducing a new character's personal odyssey, but also moving the overall plot forward.

What I consider to be the second act of the story, everything after the pre-Games interview, from prep to the grand finale is still very much in the works, but I do plan for each character to get one or more chapters from their POV depending on how long they are in the Games.

Additionally the chapters will be titled as follows: Tribute Name, Chapter Subtitle.

I will be doing it this way so as to denote which Tribute's POV is being written from as it can be very confusing with the story jumping so frequently from character to character, and to help me keep track of who I have, and have not written for at each stage of the story (Pre, and Post Games start).

I have not decided who will win the Games, and likely won't know myself until the time comes, as I'm still developing the characters, their stories, and the overall plot itself, so please don't ask, the answer will truthfully be "I don't know."

Feel free to PM me with any comments, questions, and/or concerns throughout the story.

Happy Hunger Games everyone, and may the odds be ever in your favor! :)


	2. George D, Whispers in the Wallpaper

Pulling up from the dark of a dreamless sleep I rolled over to face my largely empty room. The warm afternoon sun was filtering in through my window, illuminating my dresser and the stack of books beside it. I hated this feeling. Bogged down with too much sleep, the pressure behind my eyes as though I'd held my fists to them all night, but it couldn't be helped. I know that most of the kids, especially those still in the cold dank orphan's home despised us for being adopted by his honor the mayor Isaak Davidson. Truth was however, that this was our lives, the hours stretching on for what seemed like an eternity, the bolts on our doors and bars on our windows preventing not only our escape but any unwanted contact between his honor and the eight children he had adopted for show. So, for us, you really only had a few options for passing the time, sleeping, reading, or counting the lines in the floorboards.

I should be getting up, I think. But the bed is nice and warm, and I haven't been allowed to refresh my stock of reading material in days, and when reading is your life you tend to burn through books like wildfire. Turning onto my back and stretching my feet out to explore the hidden pocket of cool air near the foot of the bed, I breathed in the smell of the meal being prepared in the kitchen. Beef sandwiches, with au jus, I guessed, it was practically a Tuesday staple, flame roasted potatoes with peppers and onion. I let the breath escape me before inhaling deeply again, and, and, hot peach cobbler. My stomach rolled dangerously with hunger. If we were lucky we could have some for lunch, and if not we had to wait until dinner time, the only meal we ate downstairs, though confined to the kitchen, unless there was a party.

That, I thought then, was reason enough for the other children, adults even to hate us. Sure we might not have our freedom, might be used as accessories, but at least we always had the promise of one meal a day. Few in any District could say that anymore. I had just begun to fall back into the poisonous trap that is slumber when the first whispers could be heard making their way across the papered plaster of my wall. You see, we, the children have been exceedingly clever. Meant to be seen and not heard the three of us who were first adopted came up with a way to communicate between rooms. With a quick succession of tapping we could convey a wealth of information. Anton had come up with the idea after reading an old tome on "morse code." The name seemed rather dry, and archaic, and as I was the one to first put it into action I named our little language, the whispers. It was kind of funny given that our first attempt at communication had actually been whispering, and had failed drastically, as our voices didn't carry too well.

Tap, tap, tappy-tap, tap, tap, went the finger on the other side of my wall. It was Alice, but she wasn't talking to me. Rather, her message was being picked up by Flora with a water glass pressed to her wall to amplify the sound. She was a dreamy eyed girl who was relatively new to the family. Usually his honor, none of us called him father unless we were forced to for the public, only adopted children at a very young age, easier to manage and train I suppose, but everyone liked to joke that he'd chosen her for her looks. It brought Flora to tears once, so I haven't mentioned it again.

Alice was asking Flora what she thought of Ms. Watt, the strict widower, and governess who came twice a week for three hours to teach us things like reading, writing, and arithmetic. The woman was, frankly put, a bitch who wielded a ruler like a peacekeeper wielded a baton. It didn't matter to her where she struck you either, just so long as you didn't dare to duck.

"Pleasant." Flora whispered with her gentle knocking. Alice responded agasp. "Un, un, sorry she's unpleasant." Flora corrected, proving that she was still learning the ropes. Alice responded better this time. I was getting ready to drown out their conversation with a pillow over my head when Flora piped up again. "Alice, can I ask a thing?" she said poorly.

"Anything." Alice tapped back.

There was a long pause and curiosity got the better of me. Whatever it was it was going to be good, a secret maybe and I edged as close to the wall as possible, pressing my ear against it as I did.

"I started," came the first bout of knocking. Started, started what? I wondered as another pause stretched on.

Clearly Alice didn't know what she was talking about either because she quickly tapped, "And?"

" Will his honor punish me because blood is on sheets?" Flora asked.

Suddenly I knew exactly what they were talking about and reeled from the wall in disgust. My fist and those of Anton and Spark quickly drowned out any reply Alice could have made with an angry barrage of, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Proving that I hadn't been the only one eavesdropping on their conversation. Honestly, sometimes girls were the worst.

We were all, needless to say startled what his honor's voice boomed from downstairs. "Enough with the damn racket!"

"I thought he was out today." Alice tapped soft enough that the words were for my ears alone.

"So did I." I shot back as footfalls could be heard all around as others scurried back to their beds.

After a while I suppose we all slipped back into sleep because the whispers stopped.

The sharp creak of my door as it was thrust open on rusted hinges startled me out of my doze and I looked wide eyed at his honor. I was confused in my daze as to what he could want, especially so soon after yelling at us that I didn't see the cold threat in his gaze. "Downstairs boy, now." he commanded.

Whatever, naive, fleeting glimmer of hope that he had actually come to see me, sought me out, out of some type of affection died, and I remembered that this man loved no one. "Yes sir." I replied swinging myself out of bed and hurrying to catch up. The hallway upstairs always seemed drafty, and as I emerged from my room I regretted immediately the fact that my feet were bare.

Following, we walked past the library, foyer, and skirted by the kitchen before entering his honor's study. That is when I remembered that I was meant to begin lessons in becoming mayor. I'd had such lessons with him on and off for the past year now, but lately it seemed like less and less of the fundamentals, and more and more ethics classes from one of the most corrupt human beings that have ever lived. I abhorred them.

Pleasantly however, I was surprised to find that lavish meal whose tempting scents had wafted though my bedroom to be laid out on two plates between us. His honor, whose face was a perpetual, angry beet red sat in his fine leather chair, motioning for me to do the same in the small wooden stool opposite him and his desk.

I sat as instructed, my mouth watering, and stomach pining with anticipation. I inhaled deeply and could smell the subtle bite of garlic that had illuded me before. His honor motioned for me to begin, and greedily I picked up the sandwich. The bread was well burdened and only the light toasting it had received kept it from becoming a soggy mess as the meat's juices soaked in.

Heaven was merely inches from my lips when something occurred to me. "Aren't the others eating?" I asked voicing my concern.

His honor clucked his tongue in disappointed as he watched me, a hand passing over his sweaty and balding scalp. "But this is today's lesson." he intoned. I started at him blankly as I failed to comprehend, the sandwich still hanging in space. "There are the haves, and then there are the haves nots." he went on. "You and I we are the haves. We want something, we take it, we make it our own and crush any who oppose us. Do you understand?" he asked. Somberly I nodded. "Good, now everyone out there," he went on pointing to the window they're the have nots, your siblings for this demonstration are the have nots."

"Now," he said slimily as he leaned across his cluttered desk, dislodging a stack of papers. "Eat it, and savor the privilege of status." he instructed.

I hesitated. I was so hungry, and it was there, warm in my hands, but the others were hungry too, and I was the eldest. "Actually, I'm not that hungry." I lied placing the food back down.

There was a sound of wheels clattering over the floorboards, before the boom of that grand leather chair colliding with the wall as his honor stood with a fuming anger. He rarely beat us, but when he did, the beatings left lasting damage, and broken bones. Hurriedly I picked up the sandwich again and took a hardy bite, trying not to make eye contact with the man as he sat down once more.

I had been wrong about the way this sandwich would taste, it wasn't heaven, it tasted of betrayal and cowardice. Swallowing hard I wondered how I could make it up to the others.

"Remember, next week is the Reaping, I want you all presentable." his honor called up to us later that night and Hana, the old maid locked us in for the evening.

Laying sulkily with a belly full of ill gotten gains I was startled by the gentle whisper of Alice's fingers. "Do you remember the promise?" she asked quietly.

"Of course I do." I tapped back angrily, too annoyed with myself to deal with much else.

"So if one of us gets Reaped, we're all voting for the mayor." she said as if needing either confirmation or reassurance.

I smiled then in the dark. "It will be the only election that man was ever worth winning!" Together we laughed, real, joyous laughter, and let the wallpaper fall silent.


	3. Sable W, A Gaggle of Giggles

Most nights I slept outside, except during the winter. It wasn't that I wasn't allowed inside, it's just that I couldn't stand the noise. Besides, my geese kept me plenty warm. I'm a Goose Girl, and make my living tending a flock of the feathery animals. My flock usually balanced off somewhere between forty and fifty, though right now I had a total of sixty-seven, honking, waddling little friends, sixty-eight if you counted Foie Gras, but I never did. Foie Gras was a present that I got from Nan and Pap the year before Pap died, and I loved him more than anything. Everyone in the settlement, even though it's a half day's walk away knows that the goose with the red ribbon is exempt from the slaughter house, and that was the way it was going to stay.

Getting up from the stump where I had watched them stretch and wander the yard as the sun rose high above the horizon painting the sky with pink and blue, I walked towards the house. Pain shot through my foot as I carelessly stubbed my second toe on the right on the steps, peeling the skin back just in front of the nail. I knew better than to complain though, as blood began to pool and the pain lessened to an occasional throb as I let a few swears escape under my breath, privileged that I could get away with it at the moment. I had to keep my shoes good and make them last, so I only ever wore them in winter even if they were tight.

Chalking it up to bad luck, and hoping it wasn't a forecast for the week to come I poked my head inside and hollered to Nan over the cluck, cluck, clatter of the hens. "Nan, takin' geese t' water!" Nan had been a bit hard of hearing ever since I could remember, probably why she was able to stand chickens in the house, but it had gotten worse with her heartsick when Pap died, so I hollered again.

"Fill y'r pockets with peddles, a'for you go!" she called back in her raspy, not quite awake voice. "And take some eggs with ya."

The first part was as much sound advice as it was the family motto. We'd been bird folk, chicken coopers, turkey fences, geese walkers, all around poultry farmers, for as long as anyone cared to remember. Being bird folk that meant that the predators we had to watch for were mostly small, foxes, stoats, and coyotes, things that could be scared off with a well tossed stone. The second part was because Nan knew I'd rather not eat than have any more boiled eggs. We tried to make groceries last, but they never did and what we had lots of was eggs. Chicken eggs day in, day out make my throat feel sticky and stomach knot, but I was lucky to have them all the same.

Begrudgingly doing a as I was told I filled one pocket with still warm boiled eggs that had been left on the counter, and the other with stones from outside before turning towards my flock that was already a chatter with anticipation. It was the same routine day and night, rain or shine but still, they never seemed inclined to do it themselves. Pap used to say that it was because I was head honker. I smiled, he'd never called them geese, just honkers. Taking up my long switch and clicking my tongue I tapped the gaggle together into as tight a bunch as could be mustered before moving off towards the lake which was more of a pond really, but we liked to call it one because it sounded nicer.

I'd gotten to worry about Nan lately, she'd been getting quieter, and lonesomer as time went by, and talked of Pap more and more often I thought about this as I trailed my most familiar path. She missed him. I did too. When he died Nan had sold almost everything we had just to see him buried proper. Ten of our twelve inherited acres of land, not much good for pasturing as we'd never cared for any grazing stock before so it didn't fetch quite enough. Though when she more than halved her number of chickens and added the coops too, that had finally been the sum to see Pap laid down in a smart box of wood, and also how the chickens wound up in the house. I'd offered my flock too, but Nan was terribly reasonable about it. Where chickens with their eggs and versatile meat made more in general, over the long run geese were less costly, as, if you took them to the lake, they'd feed themselves.

Our new neighbors, the ones who bought land were sheep herders, with two boys and a girl. The boys were old enough to work and so they didn't play, and of course the girl was too young to work or play and spent her time this summer carding and cleaning wool to be sent to Eight. At least they were kind. They were also our only neighbors who lived within a days walk, besides the town's folk. The rest of the surrounding area belonged to cattle herders who grazed their head here in the flat lands during the winter, so all in all I enjoyed the company. Besides Bud, the husband, he had a truck and sometimes let me and Nan ride in the back when he went to market to save us some time. It was wonderful! Nothing could quite compare to watching the world shrink and speed away from you in an angry blur of red dust! Though, apparently, it had taken quite a lot of doing and cost a pretty heavy tax to keep the thing, and keep it fueled.

Reaching the lake my flock waddled in. Now on most days in the summer I'd strip down naked, hang my frock and swim with them, but we'd reached it earlier than usual, and the water was still too cool for me, so I counted. It seemed the only thing I did was count. Pap tried to teach me once a way of putting one group of numbers with another group of numbers and make of big number in your head, for when eggs hatched, and taking one little number from one big number to make a second little number for town days when we took some of the flock in, but it just didn't take. Which left me with counting, counting each and every grey, white, brown and molted feathery head; while they walked, while they swam, and while they slept. It made me proud that no one but me could tell them apart. Except for when Foie Gras nearly met the butcher. I never had the heart to take them all the way in there and Pap was trying to be nice but apparently he when he found out about the mix up he'd made quite a scene. We were all grateful that the Peacekeepers hadn't been called out on him. It also spurred the need for Foie Gras's ribbon.

As I counted I cracked one of my eggs and peeled it, littering the shell on the ground, but that was alright, shell was good for soil Nan said. The springy white outside was always the worst so I removed it and chewed it up into a quick mash before swallowing. Next came the creamy yolk. It was good, but only for the first week, after, it was ok, but made my stomach roll.

Thinking about it asI ate, I probably wouldn't have named Foie Gras, that if I'd known it's meaning, but Pap had suggested it and by the time I found out that not only was it a Capitol word, but a Capitol word for a dish of goose liver it had already stuck.

Wind bent the reeds that lined the water's edge and a tree of birds were singing just a ways off, a near perfect day. Sitting on the river back and watching a goose paddle next to a fluffy hatchling I felt momentarily sad that I had never known my parents, but we never talked about them, so I didn't really know what there was to miss. Just the vague idea that it would have been nice to have had them around even if just for a while. Foie Gras who had made a lap about the pool of water came to sit beside me and made me giggle as he set to nibbling my ear lobe. It was an affectionate gesture they all did from time to time, but from him it somehow seemed special.

Leaning back then I watched the clouds and thought wistfully about the week to come. Reaping was in three days, which meant a night in the hotel because travel was bad at night, even with a ride in the truck. That meant a real bed, neither Nan nor I had one of those, and snuggling down next to her on springs and down pillows would be a treat, one I'd only had once before when I broke my collarbone something bad and had to go to town to have it set.

But what I looked forward to the most was the ice cream parlor. We could never afford the extravagant dessert, but every year, the children old enough to be Reaped are given a free scoop by the generous owner. Finally, this year I am old enough for the treat, my excitement was only hampered by my indecision over flavor. Chocolate, vanilla, blackberry, the list went on into strange and outlandish flavors like tootie fruity, or banana, but those costs lots extra. Then something wonderful struck me, and made me grin up at the heavens. I was going to let Nan pick the flavor and then share it, right down the middle. Maybe that would help her spirits, I really, really hoped it would.


	4. Adaria B, Race and Ruins

My lungs burned as they strained to take in enough air, heart pounded, back ached, arms swung frantically, and legs pumped with a stong systematic rhythm like pistons. God, I loved running! The ground came up with sharp jarring contacts to meet my shoes, dust kicking up in chalky plumes behind me as we cut down an alley. It was just supposed to be a morning jog, it was always just supposed to be a morning jog, but it never stayed that way, not when you could push yourself to breaking point, push each other to breaking point, and that is what Valentina and I did everyday. We had started out at home, at and easy pace, but in no time we were tearing through the streets, alleys, and byways on our way to the Games Training Center.

We were nearly neck and neck, and after three years of training and practice together we could well predict one another's moves and anticipate where we were at the advantage. Cutting through the town square where in two days the Reaping would be held I managed to scale the stairs leading to the main road two at a time, overtaking my friend. I felt the momentary rush of victory though I knew it wouldn't be long lived. Coming across the slower moving traffic of masons walking to the quarry we dodged and wove through the slowly filling street. She was at the advantage, here, more agile where I had the flat out speed. Buildings blurred past and still my legs worked with a mechanics of their own. The morning sunlight was reflected suddenly and sharply off the glass of a door as it opened and shown right into my eyes, catching my attention. Turning to look, I laughed at the obstacle that was currently presenting itself on our path. A group of stiff P.K. trainees were shuffling out of the nearby education center, their crisp uniforms with their neat little training stripes just begged for dirtying.

Glancing back to Valentina who was just at my heels, her bright red hair caught in the wind and trailing behind her like a comet's tail, to see if she was ready to cause a little trouble with the future of Panem's policing force. Smiling and nodding I found that my friend was, as ever, ready for anything. P.K. trainees were worse than P.K.s themselves, always stuck up, high and mighty little pricks, always lording over us Careers their supposed status, and privilege. They would get to travel the Nation, they would get to see the Capitol, as if that was such an honor. If it hadn't been for my uncle's cruel insistence that I become a Career I would have gladly lived off his wealth as a nobody, or broke my back in a quarry as a nobody rather than join their ranks. Unfortunately for the quarry workers however, their list of job requirements included letting P.K. trianee brats practice their "technique" on you. At least once a year they beat some poor soul to death, so yeah, they had to go down.

"Look out!" "Move!" "Our of the way!" Came the shouts and distressed cries from the starchly dressed individuals as we bared down on them. Neither Valentina nor I gave them any heed as we barreled through those too stupid, or flat-footed to move fast enough, knocking several to the ground. Laughing with my greatest friend, and ally in misadventure as our paces matched I almost didn't register the dark fast moving object in my peripheral vision until it was nearly to late. Somehow I managed to duck the baton anyway. See that was why I hated them, it was always beat first, figure out what District you're in later.

"Asshole!" I swore at him, sure my uncle would hear about it later, meaning that so would I, eventually. But right now that didn't matter, and all that did matter was the intoxicating thrill and adrenaline that running brought. It made me feel alive.

The Center came into view shortly after we had broken through the crowds. Typically I hated the place, it was where I was trained to kill other children, and aside from Valentina, I was the only Career who didn't seem to relish the idea. Not to mention the Careers themselves; catty, pack animals, who stuck together and made fun of anyone who seemed weak or different. Me, I was petite at best. and even though I could hold my own with a spear, and managed to adapt rather quickly in hand-to-hand, strength wasn't necessarily my strong point. That was how Valentina and I had met too, I was being excluded, mocked. She was an orphan elected for training as a Career because of her athleticism and knew what being an outcast meant, felt like. She had come over to me and helped me with some one on one. This went on for about a week before we finally decided to be friends as well as sparing partners and actually held a real conversation. My uncle adopted her just last year, it was a hollow gesture towards me I knew, like he was buying a pet, anything he could do to give me companionship without actually being there himself. Still I loved our time together. Technically it made her my cousin, but with the way we acted, sisters was definatly a more apt analogy of our relationship.

"I win!" we cried in unison our hands slapping the rugged concrete wall of the Center. After the Year of Sorrow District Two had been the first to be rebuilt, after the Capitol of course, but it still bore its scars. My favorite was the long crack that ran from the all the way from the Center's base to the top of the domed, open ceiling of the building. I always touched it coming in for the win. We joked once that if we built up enough momentum we could bring the whole wretched place down.

Turning with my back to the sun baked wall I slid down to the ground as breath tugged in sharp painful gulps at my chest, and my legs finally motionless still felt jumpy, restless, like they could keep going, and sore. "Tie?" Valentina asked breathily.

"Tie." I confirmed with a laugh.

"Could you believe that peacekeeper wannabe?" Valentina asked, knocking her shoulder against mine.

"I know!" I shrilled unable to contain either my disbelief or my excitement. If anyone were to ask I would say that I wasn't one to cause trouble, but truth was, if I could get away with causing a little mischief every now and then, well, I thrived on it. "Darn near took my head off!" We laughed. "Stupid P.K.s"

"You know that your uncle's going to hear about it, then we're in trouble." she went on, still struggling to regain her breath.

I grimaced. My uncle was hardly ever home, he was supposed to be my guardian but he never had the time of day for me, not ever, which probably explained a lot. The way he put it when he was around and fuming at our antics, Valentina was supposed to keep me in line, be my better half, more responsible because she's older by a good two and a half years. Oh how best laid plans can fail! "I know," I said with a shrug. "But what can you do about it?"

We sat there eyes closed as we caught our breath for several minutes before Valentina broke the silence once more. "Reaping is in two days." she observed.

"Yeah." I said, cherishing the warmth of the sun on my face, but I could hear the nerves in her tone. Careers usuasly wound up in the Games one way or the other, whether through volunteering or through the pool, it seemed masons were seldom chosen, and P.K. trainees over them. This would be the last Reaping she would ever have to face, and Valentina seemed to think that this would be the year her name was chosen out of the dozens in that horrid glass bowl.

"I don't think I could do it, if I got, ...chosen." she went on with a lilt to her tone, rousing me from my half doze as I could tell now that she was really trying to put on a brave face. Valentina never used the word 'Reaped' she felt it was too cruel, too menacing, and robbed the children it referred to of not only identities, but humanity, relating them more akin to crops than anything.

Honestly I sometimes think that she's too good for this world, and am proud of all the things she's taught me. I only hope I've returned the favor in some small way.

"You won't be R- chosen." I said correcting myself before it was too late.

"I know it's silly Adaria, but I'm really worried, I feel like something bad is about to happen!" she went on her voice warbling. This more than anything scared me. Valentina had always been the stronger of the two of us, the one with a leather hide who knew that words were nothing more than just that, words. The one who lived now and never thought of tomorrow or dangers to come. I was the one who was timid, shy even in social situations, standing up for my beliefs, and giving P.K. trainees a taste of their own medicine, never, but I was the one who fumbled during conversations, or fretted over things like the future and Reapings, never her, never my brave, strong, compassionate Valentina.

I tried to think of something to say. Then channeling my inner Valentina I looked at her with a wide, wicked grin. "Tell you what, the night after Reaping, when we're both sitting together on the couch, instead of having a quiet night at home you and me put on our sexist dresses and paint the town red like a couple of Capitol girls!"

Valentina brightened at this, "I want you in heels darling, heels!" she said in her best Capitol accent.

I groaned before linking my arm in hers, "Heels it is Vee!" I said in my own accent. We laughed and I helped her up. "Come on, I beamed at her, let's go work up a sweat." And with that we entered the dome.


	5. Cable R, Kitchen Kinetics

Potential energy was the best way to describe my mother the night before Reapings, like a spring. I was her only child, the result of a short lived affair, not a terribly uncommon thing, but one that had left her with a fairly large order to fill. With her taxing career and being a single mother with only fleeting, fair weather friends to rely on, and no family to show for her efforts I still never had reason or warrant to complain. She was always the best mother, anyone could hope for and an adiquit father too, we liked to joke. But there were dark days where something too obscure for my mind to grasp would permeate her sunny exterior and she would fall quiet. It had to do with her work in D and E, I think.

The Capitol, although she had one of the best paying jobs in the District, unfortunately, worked the poor woman to the bone each and every day exhausting her mind, body, and sprirt. It was so much so that she had little appetite some days, and it took much coaxing to get anything in her. She seldom even knew the date, it seemed regardless of her work and had to ask several times before she could finally put it to memory. Her job mostly entailed the design of pods, which was a harrowing endeavor for a woman as sensitive as she was. I was smart enough to be in pod design my self, even tinkered with it, but she taught me how to fake my placement exams, score lower than the minimum required and now I studied for work in wiring and electronics.

She was firm in crushing my once dream. I'd argued with her, and then she said she the one thing that would bring her world into focus for me. That she didn't want me to one day recognise something I had created ripping apart some poor Tribute in one Games or the other, to wake up one morning and realize that I was a murderer. This then, was the reason for her melancholy, and sometimes, distant inability to function. She was too soft, too kind, and blamed herself for the evils the Capitol used her for.

I never brought up working on pods again, but she did. It was when her guilt would eat away at her so terribly that eventually she broke down and poured her heart out to the only person she could rely on to hold her ground and guard her secrets. Honestly, I'm glad she kept me from that work as much of what she told me is horrifying and spoken only of in nervous trembling whispers.

Though this evening when she came home and sat beside me on the sofa I knew very well that tonight would be a night that there would be no such talk, and that she would rather go straight to bed. She always managed small conversation when she arrived though, no matter how poorly she was feeling and tonight was no different. "How was your day Cable?" she began.

"It was good." I answered honestly. "I experimenting with some rewiring and found a way to reestablish the workings of a disk reader to burn instead. It was simple and could save a lot of time rather than ordering one or the other. In theory the engineering could be reversed and applied to a burner, controversially."

"I'm glad you had a good day, but Cable, baby, you're home, you don't need to impress me, I already know what you can do. You don't need to talk so big." she replied, eyes closed and corkscrew blond hair sticking out at odd angles.

"Sorry mom." I apologized, hoping she wasn't getting a migraine, as she sometimes did. I was actually kind of anxious, she'd been rather happy all week long, giving me high hopes for tonight, but it didn't seem like it was meant to be. We've had a pre-Reaping tradition ever since I was twelve, it might appear odd to some, but I loved it, and if she wasn't feeling well, I doubted if this year we would keep to tradition. "In short, I messed around when I should have been working and made an innovation of science."

Mom laughed, "Oh is that all?" she asked. "And how is this secret crystalline project of yours coming?" she went on.

I grinned. I had this theory that with the reflectivity and atomic mass of most crystalline forms and the substantial quantity of information that can be marginalized down, that far more information could be stored at a nearly subatomic level on certain crystal structures with a micro-lazor, thus eliminating the need for disks all together and opening a whole new avenue for the sharing of data. Though of course with my lowly score and current position I didn't have access to the necessary equipment, not to mention that once used a crystal couldn't be revised, edited, or rewritten. "Still a theory, and still very much a secret." I laughed leaning over to rest my head on her shoulder. It was nice to know that I had someone that I could rely upon utterly, even if I did get called a mama's boy from time to time.

"The Reapings are tomorrow, aren't they?" she asked, eyes still closed.

"Yes, they are." I responded trying not to sound too hopeful or needy.

"Well," mom said slapping her hands on her knees as she prepared to stand. "We had better get into that kitchen!"

"We don't have to do it this year if you don't want to mom." I said standing at the same time she did. "Especially if you're not feeling well." What I said next crossed the line, without my meaning to. "I mean odds are-"

"Don't!" she snapped pointing an accusative finger in my direction, her attitude suddenly threatening. "I work in D and E, don't you dare talk about odds, they are never good and never in anyone's favor." My face fell, I hadn't meant to bring up Defense and Entertainment in any way, but sometimes I was a real dumbass. 'Odds' and 'favor' were essentially trademarked phrases of D and E, as well as being entirely to their own making.

"I'm sorry." I said earnestly.

"Don't be." mom sighed, her tone gentler as she recognized her own anger. "Just get into that kitchen and help me whip up some grub."

Then, all at once the spring was released and all that potential energy became kinetic energy, my mom was alive again and we were a team the way we always had been, but somehow forgot along the way. Mom heated oil, and prepped veggies. I diced onions and started on the meat. My fingers flew with trained precision, and hers rained down spices liberally.

Green curry. It was a fiery, expensive to make dish mom had, had once when she was called to the Capitol for business, and she'd fallen in love with it. All year, every year we ate bland and cheap saving up for the more expensive ingredients like coconut milk, mint, cilantro, cumin, cardamom, fennel, peppers, and lemon grass, just so once a year we could eat the fiery splendor that would be regretted the next day, as it was as much my favorite food as it was hers.

More than the curry though, this is what I treasured; the time together, laughing, the heat of the stove on our faces, dancing as we worked, singing even as we bumped into each, spilling our ingredients, making mistakes, and knowing it didn't matter, not when we had each other. Soon our tiny house was flooded with the warm, spicy aroma, and our eyes stung from proximity. Lidding the pot mom led the way back into the living while our prize simmered.

"You have the magic hands." mom said with a grin as we sat down. We tried to cook together at least once a month, it was our time together, but somehow curry night always seemed special.

"Well you have the skills, I nearly charred the eggplant!" I retorted feeling worn out, but in a good way. "What was your favorite part of the year?" I asked as our tradition dictated.

"Hmm," mom mused, this time resting her head on my shoulder. "Let me think, why don't you tell be yours."

I shrugged. "I dunno, my birthday maybe, yeah, my birthday."

Mom laughed, "Worst attempt at cake baking ever, plus leftover flour is equal to one part fun, and one part mess." I laughed at the memory. She had gotten home early and burned what was supposed to be a surprise cake, which was considerably cheaper than buying one, but made amends by ambushing me with a flour fight, which in retrospect is much like a snowball fight but much, much messier. "I like tonight best." she said with a hug.

Getting up after a while we laddled some of the piping hot food onto two plates of rice and sat down to eat. The first bite was, always a head rush and we both went straight for the water. About halfway in the heat stopped bothering us and we were able to savor the many subtle layers the dish had, same as every year. When we were done I helped clean up, then changed and told my mom goodnight. I admit I lingered, but eventually got into bed.

Light spilled into the dark of my room as mom came in shortly after. I wondered if she ever realized that I was just pretending as she kissed my forehead and adjusted my blankets. "No matter what happens tomorrow baby, know that you are my greatest treasure, and I love you!" she whispered from my doorway as she did every year after she had finished checking me over to insure not a single toe went uncovered.

I cursed myself silently as the light faded and her footsteps could be heard leading down the hall. I was too old for this, too mature to be crying into my pillow with fear and anxiety and the knowledge of my mother's guilt in the part she will play tomorrow, and even more that I could cause her death, but I was. It was coming over me, like giant oppressive waves baring down on a little sea tossed ship. I bit down onto my pillow and screamed, while mentally I commanded myself to be strong, be a man. Yet, more than anything, even with my mother's assurances, I was afraid of what tomorrow would bring...


	6. Apollo K, Fatal Fairwells

The crowd was huge, and constantly shifting, our bodies crammed uncomfortably close together inside the fenced off area. In One Reapings were always a big event, not that it wasn't elsewhere, but here, it was almost a spectators sport, watching the vies and bids for a spot as a Tribute. It was ridiculous, volunteering, arguing even for the chance to die. I didn't dwell on it though, knowing that I would be doing exactly that in a moment, ever the hypocrit.

I had gone to work this morning, I didn't have to, or rather wasn't supposed to, but there was something about the heat of the forge, and making something with my hands that breathed life into me and gave me purpose. It brought me peace of mind. Even now standing amid the other young men in only my boots, trousers, and leather appron I could feel that sense of ease and relaxation reaching deep into my bones. I knew the sweat I had worked up was bothersome to those around me, but no one made mention of it, not today, not when all focus was on the stage. Still even with all the excitement if I closed my eyes I could smell the fire's heat, taste the acrid, sour tang of the hot gold as it stretched and formed by my hand.

I was a Career only out of my step father's demand though, even over being a goldsmith which I felt was my true calling. We were easy to spot, those of us who trained, thick, muscular, and rippling. Even the girls on the other side of the divide could be told apart, their arms and abdomens, strengthened with thick, though less showy bands of muscle that peaked through garments, or were left exposed completely. By contrast those among us who worked the diamond mines were thin, sickly, with a pallor to their skin that made them almost appear to be slick. I'd heard that there were gasses deep under the earth where the prized and glittering gems blossomed like flowers that could kill a person, seeing the miners now beside their fellows, it was not impossible to imagine.

It was overcast and shadowy with the distinct promise of rain. Glancing about I spotted my mom among the observers with my sister Celeste who was two years too old for the honor of being down here. I smiled when Celeste smiled, and waved at them. I loved my mom, honestly I did, but she was also the most idiotic person who has ever lived. Lynx, her husband and evidence of her stupidity walked out of my blind spot and headed towards them, Phoebe the only child the two of them had, had together at hand. My smile vanished. I was a Career because of that man, I was going to volunteer, again, because of him, and I had lost my left eye because of him as well. Of all the monstrously abusive individuals my mother could have fallen 'in love' with, I was fairly sure that he was the worst.

I turned away fuming just as Alexandri Colt, a Capitol man with a single fringe of turquoise hair that stood up on the center of his head before laying to the right just above his brow like a wave, stepped out on stage. He beamed at us proudly, being District One's escort was a great honor and he relished it each and year. "Ladies first!" he piped out in his shrill, overly feminine voice. I always found him to be ridiculous, and needlessly flamboyant, big surprise given where he called home, and I had to stifle a laugh.

Most of the time the drawings in Career Districts were meaningless, and more for show than anything else. The man reached his hand into one of the large bowls and gave the papers inside a short whirl before pulling out a slip. "Amber Mace." Alexandri's voice whined nasally.

"I volunteer!" came a dozen or more female voices, so in unison they seemed almost militaristic in their discipline.

Alexandri sighed heavily into the mic as all around him the red lights of cameras shut off, no one wanted to watch the nit picking, and without the public eye there was no need for public show. "Really, every year!" he complained to seemingly no one and everyone at the same time. "Don't get me wrong," he went on turning to an equally garish, but clearly disinterested camera man. "I love the glamour, but I could really do without the politics."

All of the volunteers were taken to the stage where the preliminaries would begin, in which the girls would discuss among themselves their reasons and choose who would best be suited the Reaping. This almost never went well, and this year was a keen example of how badly such situations could go as it devolved into brief but bloody fistfight.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" Colt lamented, still connected to the audio system as he swore in the name of one long lost god or another.

At last we were able to move on, to part two of the selection process, open debate. Of the remaining six to move onto this part three girls were voted upon by the general public. Those names would then be re-submitted into the bowl and only one could be drawn. Stepping up the the restocked container Colt fished around again and pulled out a slip. "Snowflake Trest" he called having regained his camera face and none too late, though a subtle twitch in his mouth at the surname gave away how plain and common he found it. The girl however was anything but common. She was tall, pale, with hair of white gold, and violet eyes dangerously alive with her victory.

Everyone applauded, her family was led away for the voting, and Colt stepped up to the boy's bowl. At that moment without any build up the heavens opened.

"This day, could it get any worse?" The Capitol escort practically sobbed as his makeup began to run in drab muddied smears. When his hair fell flat he began to scoff and preen like a cat with a hairball before sputtering desperately for all to hear, "For the boy's this year, the year of the 82nd Hunger Games, the Reaping will stand as a state of urgency is declared. There will be no further debate." he said laying down the law. Everyone around me suddenly tensed with anticipation as he withdrew a soggy paper and shook it off. That was it, this year, whoever it was, they were stuck. "Apollo Kovalev." he sneered, pronouncing my adopted surname poorly.

Of course it had to be me. There was no way it could have been any other, the universe itself had allied against me. First the long debate of the girls, the fistfight, the rain itself and the sniveling man whose face ran like a ruined painting. No one else could have luck like mine. Actually come to think of it, only twenty-five others could have luck like mine. I was numb, floating and weightless with not even reality to hold me to the ground as they came to collect me. Yes I had been going to volunteer, but all I had to do was give a poor argument, be disparaging and no one would vote me in, because, more than anything District One liked to win.

It seemed like eons and milliseconds, a lifetime, and a single breath, in the time it took me and my family to be gathered in that tight little room. So, here I was facing a near assured death sentence, and I had to vote someone I loved to join me. We all stood in a small circle, as the official scribe of votes waited in the corner, her innate pen poised. I couldn't bare to look up, stand to see the pain on my mother and sister's faces. Tears, hot and remorseful stung at the back of my eye, the socket a beating too many had left void burned also, but this was a phantom pain. I choked back what tears I could, and then Lynx cleared his throat.

My heart skipped a beat and my head shot up. It was so absurd a concept that it had taken me a moment to realize what it meant. I hadn't, not ever, considered that bastard to be a part of my family, but apparently the Capitol saw things differently. I took one look at his grizzled, hollow face and laughed, loud, long, and bright.

"I cast my vote," I declared feeling freer than I ever had in my entire life. Ironic given that my future had all but just been taken from me. "I vote for Lynx Kovalev." I laughed out, intoxicated with relief and joy. The pen scratched down his name.

Lynx gave a half cry, half gasp that caused him to choke and gag on his rage. Peacekeepers stationed in the corners of the room leveled their weapons at him, as with one hand Lynx gripped the front of my apron, while the other reeled back in a fist and my mother yelled for him to stop. "Release the Tribute." one of their steady voices said, though I could not see the speaker, a disadvantage of the half-blind.

"This is ridiculous!" Lynx chuckled nervously as he let go and backed off. "The boy didn't mean it!" he pleaded to the woman's who looked rather smug. He was swallowing hard, face becoming gaunt as if in all the years of beating and belittling, the cost of my eye and the forced position of Career he hadn't even expected this as a possibility. He and my mom argued briefly before Lynx shouted above the din, "Fine, I cast my vote, Celeste Kovalev!"

"Lynx!" My mother shrieked grabbing onto both my sister and I. She wasn't keen on losing any of her children. "She's my daughter!"

"Exactly," the bastard said his tone low and threatening. "She's _your_ daughter."

Suddenly the glass of my mother's perfect fantasy world shattered, and it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. With tears in her eyes she whispered a barley audioble, "I cast my vote for Lynx Kovalev." Celeste quickly followed suit. No matter what little Phoebe said now his fate was sealed and two armed guards stepped forward to take him into custody. He was deathly pale, and his knees kept giving out on him, not quite so strong anymore, not when he was the one on the receiving end.

"Love you mom, love you Celeste. Phoebe, kid, you be good I love you too." I said managing to give them a brief group hug before being hauled away too, but in the opposite direction. "Oh, and Lynx," I called out. "I'm really, _really_ sorry!" I couldn't help myself, the laugher erupted from me in a violent uncontrollable bout, one that would last and cause me to question my own sanity long after District One had faded from the train window.


	7. Annie E, The First Final Reunion

I held my eyes firmly closed, too nervous, too afraid to dare open them. My heart was pounding, and balance was more difficult to come by than usual. It was like this in almost every social situations, but Reapings were the worst. What did they call it, sweating bullets? I stuttered. It was a huge character flaw of mine, one that earned me the ridicule and monstrously biting words of children and adults alike. I hated people sometimes. Honestly I did. I hated their cruelty, their blind ignorance, their superiority, and I hated their greed, but more than anything I hated that I wasn't one of the group, that they wouldn't accept me. It would seem almost counter intuitive then, given how lonely I really am that I should avoid people like they carried the plague, but being lonely was far better than being lonely and verbally abused. Besides, I had my parents.

They had married young, sweethearts throughout their childhood, and had me young as well. They didn't mock or play cruel games with me and were always kind and encouraging even when others thought I was beyond hope. It might not seem like much as they're my parents but to me it means the world. Most importantly however, other than being loving they are neither ashamed nor embarrassed by me either, not even after I lost the leg.

It had happened in an electrical fire, the building had no escapes and I was lucky to survive with as few limitations as I did, not many could boast the same. None the less cripple and retard are both how I'm commonly known and still, sometimes even against my own beliefs my parents love me. I am very lucky to be their daughter.

Opening my eyes I could just barely make out the top of my father's curly red haired head from amid the crowd of spectators and feel, if only somewhat comforted as other girls knock and jostle me about, vying for position. They were very envious of our escort, Persephone LaHool, each one wanting to be her, from the top of her golden curled head to the bottom of her shiny black shoed feet, and getting a good look was as close as any of us could get. I my opinion she looked eerily like what was left of a porcelain doll that my mother had inherited, only her face wasn't cracked.

I decided not to hold their lack of manners against them, after all, I had been relatively invisable lately and no one had hurled either stone or insult in my direction since yesterday. So, nothing really to complain about. Besides they were all probably just as nervous, and sick to their stomachs as I was, standing around in their loosely bunched groups waiting to be Reaped from. I couldn't help but feel no matter was chosen Five didn't have a chance.

I was startled from my melancholy thoughts when someone brushed my arm with their fingers and said my name. Jerking to attention I looked and saw Betty Volt's deep green eyes staring at me with a sort of half smile on her round face. Betty wasn't fat, but she was plump and that had earned her some pretty heavy teasing, up until she managed to get in with the popular girls by stealing my crutch and leaving me stranded at school for the entire afternoon. I'd missed my shift at the generators as well, but Betty had gained her so desired infamy.

"Hello Annie, how are you?" she asked in a pleasant tone.

I smiled a bit and nodded, but this didn't seem like enough for her. "I, I-I'm doing we-ell." I said replied face falling slightly as I anticipated the jeer. "How a-are you?"

"I'm doing well myself." she beamed. This small talk with Betty wasn't half as confusing as it would have been if she were one of the other girls, after all Betty was still nice to me from time to time. Usually only when there were alterior or self serving motives involved though. "Here," she said pulling as my crutch. I immediately became defensive and bared down on it. Betty was stronger and pulled it away. "Give your arm a rest." To my surprise she ducked under my armpit supporting me. I was awash with guilt about it, but I couldn't help to wonder what was in it for Betty to be doing this.

It was about that time that Persephone LaHool with her tiny baby stepped gate appeared, the several layers of her pink lace dress ruffling and swaying just above her knees. "Hello, hello, hello my lovey, dovie, doves!" she called brightly to all of us, glancing around with a large white smile. "And how have my Fivey-kins been?" she asked, a low murmur without any discernable answer came from the crowd. "Yay!" she clapped bobbing her head back and forth. I could hear some of the boys across the isle laughing, girls everywhere turned to glare. "Ladies first!" Persephone practically sang.

I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers as were dozens of girls about me, I could even hear a quickly whispered prayer from Betty, close to her as I was. "Annie Elkiss!" Persephone called bouncing on her toes and waving the slip about. "Where are you my lucky ducky wucky?"

I was going to vomit. The crowd parted revealing Betty and I. "Aw such cute friends!" the Capitol woman crooned. Bile and stomach acid lurched up sharply, flooding my mouth and stinging my nose as Betty got once more exactly what she wanted at my expense.

Suddenly I was doubled over losing my breakfast. Remarkably the other girl didn't move from my side in fact she had begun to gently move my hair out of the way. I had finally stopped by the time the peacekeepers reached us. Betty face was paper white and her eyes were teary. "I'm so sorry!" she chocked out voice catching as my arms were seized away from her. "So sorry for everything!" she went on trying to shove my crutch to the officers who ignored her. "Hey!" she called sharply, angered at being ignored. One of the strong men turned on her hotly.

"Oh dear," Persephone could be heard from the stage. "It's ok, just, just take the stick thingy."

I was too confused, too afraid, and too confronted with the absurdities of life to take notice of what happened next, but I had my crutch, now, somehow. All I could think though was how funny the way life goes, as I realized now more than anything, even after all the hate that I loved Betty like a friend and ally for what she did for me in the final moments we would ever share.

Thrust into a tiny room with my parents, both their faces ashen, eyes red, reality was quick to catch up with us all. Frantically we embraced, began apologizing for any and every slight we had ever given any of the others in choked sobbing voices. Then the door swung open and another warm body stumbled in. My mother gasped and my father braced her shoulders. Turning I looked and saw, me. A cleaner, better dressed, more confident looking me who boasted two very strong looking legs.

My mouth hung open in a most unbecoming way, but at last I was able to choke out some pinched words, my throat still sore from all the vomiting and tears. "I-I d-don't understa-and." I said looking from the me to my parents, to the officials.

"Bonds of blood come before bonds of adoption contract." was all I could get anyone to say, and it was the head peacekeeper who had said it.

"I'm afraid that I don't understand either." said the other me in my voice that was for once clear and unencumbered. Silence fell and we found ourselves gawking at everyone in the room in turn, surely one of them had the answer.

"Yes, yes, this is all very, very confusing," piped up our scribe from where she sat half hidden under the numerous layers of orange plumed skirts she wore. "But please let us keep this up all day, time is of no matter, and it isn't like if Miss Alice Davidson survives this election that she won't be moved to that of Mr. George Davidson's." The woman spoke so quickly and her voice was so nasally that it was difficult to tell if she was being sarcastic or not, being from the Capitol I wagered she was.

"Annie," my father started his voice deep as he tried to reign himself in. "When you were born, you were born with a sister, named Alice, a twin." he paused swallowing hard, allowing me to absorb this new information. "We could afford to only keep one of you, and we chose you."

My head was spinning when my mom, our mom I guess, shouted out, "We're so sorry, we never wanted you to find out!"

Alice and I looked at each other for a long, long time, both a little scared, confused, and hurt by everything. I surprised myself by speaking first. "S-so, y-you're my sister."

"I guess so." she replied.

There was a clatter in the corner of the room, we looked and saw the five minute sand glass indicating that if we did not vote within the allotted time our choice would be void and the scribe would make the decision for us. She smiled smugly in our direction.

"I cast my vote for Alice Davidson." our father said almost immediately, our mother parroting him.

I whirled on them, first they denied me the right to know my sister in the first place and now they were taking her away from me again. "Y-you can't do tha-at!" I cried out. "She's m-my sister, your da-aughter, and you're sentencing h-her to die?" I was a realist and knew that there was no chance of my survival. "You-ou don't even kn-know her!" I said accusingly.

"Exactly, we don't know her!" our father bellowed, and suddenly the ease of their choice became clear, it was true, she might be their daughter, but she was also a stranger. Better her in their minds than either of them.

Alice and I looked at each other for as long as we dared with the sand running out before latching onto one another as if for dear life. I was too afraid, too angry and aashamed to say it, but Alice wasn't. In a tone clear as a bell she declared, "I cast my vote for Alice Davidson."

Stong arms began to pull us apart but we fought them, I wondered briefly if it had been like this when we were infants, did we fight to stay together? In the end the peacekeepers won and I was drug off to the train holding the torn sleeve that smelled of a sister I never knew or would ever see again, my enraged wails the last she or our parents would ever hear from me.


End file.
